| |
Beverly propped a pillow under Mr. X’s foot, adjusting it so that his shiny new cast was centered in the middle. “Then you weren’t kidding about how you did this?”
“I swear it’s the truth. Yang bumped me, and I tripped over a large root. Broke my foot in two places.” He pointed to the crutches propped against the chair. “The doctor tells me I have to wear this monstrosity for six weeks.”
Beverly made sure he was comfortable and then settled on the sofa across from him, curling her legs up under her. She hugged one of the throw pillows. “I don’t know how to thank you for calling me last night about my impending arrest. I’d be in a jail cell or dead right now, otherwise.”
He nodded. “My first opportunity to help out a damsel in distress.”
“And you get an A-plus. Although I apologize for sleeping until noon. I had no idea I was that tired.”
“Quite understandable due to the unpleasant situation you find yourself in. I must also apologize, however. Having you make a late lunch for us isn’t very hospitable on my part.”
“The least I can do.” She’d also spent the better part of the afternoon on cleaning duty since he found it hard going.
Staring at the ceiling, she said, “This is all my fault. All of it.”
“I don’t think you made Yang trip me, dear girl.”
“Getting Adam kidnapped and nearly killed, getting Mr. Strudwick killed. Poor Mr. Strudwick. He had a wife and six kids, one with Down’s. He was trying to do the right thing in the end.”
“Then it’s a blessing he won’t have to face the humiliation when this comes to light.”
“No, but his family will.”
“That is unfortunate. Too many people get caught up in the underworld without thinking about how it might hurt their families.”
The faraway look on his face prompted her to ask. “What about your family? Where are they living?”
“My family, such as it is, is scattered around the globe. I was married once to an opera singer, a soprano.”
She gawked at him, and he laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. It only lasted a month.”
“Where are you from?”
“Everywhere. My origins are original. And secret. We’ll leave it at that.”
Clutching the pillow tighter, she said in a half-whisper. “All I wanted was to avenge my grandmother.”
“Don’t give up hope, Beverly Laborde. When the world seems its darkest, dawn is just around the corner. That’s a song, isn’t it?”
“I left Adam with a horrible mess. I can’t begin to imagine what he thinks of me right now. I take that back. I can most definitely imagine what he thinks of me, and it involves lots of four-letter words.”
“I looked up your Adam Dutton. A fast track to detective, plenty of commendations. And there was a nasty bit of business a few years ago. He survived that, even thrived, when others would have crumbled. All is not lost.”
Beverly relaxed a fraction or two. “I hope you’re right.”
“Of course, I am. I’m hardly ever wrong.”
That made her laugh good and hard. When she’d caught her breath, her gaze landed on a silver chalice on the mantel. She said, “Forsythe must have a touch of OCD. His fascination with antique silver, for example. Maybe it’s genetic. I’ve become obsessed myself, like him.”
“You mean that Lady of Chartres statue?”
“He’s probably found it by now.”
“Are you so sure?”
She chewed on her lip. “Not really. His father’s widow said he didn’t have it yet.”
Beverly hopped up and retrieved a folder with her notes and flipped through them until she got to the part with the Kornelson verses. She’d made a list of possible ‘monuments’ in the area but so far come up empty. Only one left, but it was the least likely, so she’d left it for last. It was too small for a monument. Unless Harlan was right about monuments not always being huge.
Slamming the folder shut with such force that she startled Mr. X, she said, “I’m going to get that statue before he gets his greedy hands on it if it’s the last thing I do.”
“It may well be, dear. Give it a rest. You need to rest.”
“But I’ve just had a brainstorm about those verses I mentioned to you. From the Kornelson papers. It’s possible I might know where the statue is hidden.” She grabbed her coat and purse and headed toward the door to put on her shoes.
Mr. X called to her, “Where do you think you’re going? You’re a wanted woman, you know.”
“I can’t sit around here waiting for god knows what to happen without doing something.”
“I will agree to it on one condition. I come with you.”
She pointed to his cast. “In that?”
“You can drive. I’ll go as a passenger and your backup.”
They decided to take Mr. X’s car since hers would be more of a red flag. Not that his Beamer wouldn’t be out of place among all the Vermont Subarus. Beverly felt confident about finding her way to and from Mr. X’s castle now and didn’t have to ask for directions from him.
The cold front forecast to be heading their way had dropped the temps into the upper 30s. The wind had picked up, tossing some of the remaining leaves across the road into mini-leaf vortices.
He asked, “Where are we headed?”
“To an old abandoned church.”
“Not my favorite places, those.”
“Churches? Or abandoned churches?”
“Both. Whatever religion my family followed, I’m a lapsed form of it.”
Beverly pulled over next to a pasture to consult her notes and re-program the GPS destination in Mr. X’s car.
“Lost, are we?”
“I hardly ever get lost. Not on the roads, anyway.”
After an hour of twisting, turning roads that seemed to lead nowhere, the GPS’s mechanical voice said, “Turn left in fifty feet. Your destination will be on the right.”
After the turn, Mr. X said, “What destination? Looks like a bunch of trees.”
“The area would have grown up considerably in a hundred years. But the church should be beyond that thicket. I hope.”
Beverly spied what looked like the main entrance into the site, overgrown thought it was, with two large, twisted oak trees. Something made her decide to continue around the bend until she found what looked like a separate pathway, and she parked beside it.
She grabbed her collapsible shovel and metal detector she’d brought along from the trunk and gave Mr. X a wink. “I’ve never had a lookout before. Certainly not one with a broken foot.”
Mr. X waved at the crutches in the back of the passenger seat. “Those will make a handy weapon in a pinch. You’ve got your gun, right?”
“Naturally.” Beverly patted her bag, which she’d slung diagonally across her shoulder. “The only threat I expect to see, in all honesty, is a rat or two.”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
She gave him a wave, picked up the shovel and metal detector, and plunged ahead through the trees.
